"What are you thinking about, Teddy Bear?"
"Nothing."
There was a silence. Mr. Hutton remained motionless, his elbows on the parapet of the terrace, his chin in his hands, looking down over Florence. He had taken a villa1 on one of the hilltops to the south of the city. From a little raised terrace at the end of the garden one looked down a long fertile valley on to the town and beyond it to the bleak2 mass of Monte Morello and, eastward3 of it, to the peopled hill of Fiesole, dotted with white houses. Everything was clear and luminous4 in the September sunshine.
"Are you worried about anything?"
"No, thank you."
"Tell me, Teddy Bear."
"But, my dear, there's nothing to tell." Mr. Hutton turned round, smiled, and patted the girl's hand. "I think you'd better go in and have your siesta5. It's too hot for you here."
"Very well, Teddy Bear. Are you coming too?"
"When I've finished my cigar."
"All right. But do hurry up and finish it, Teddy Bear." Slowly, reluctantly, she descended6 the steps of the terrace and walked towards the house.
Mr. Hutton continued his contemplation of Florence. He had need to be alone. It was good sometimes to escape from Doris and the restless solicitude7 of her passion. He had never known the pains of loving hopelessly, but he was experiencing now the pains of being loved. These last weeks had been a period of growing discomfort8. Doris was always with him, like an obsession9, like a guilty conscience. Yes, it was good to be alone.
He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and opened it; not without reluctance10. He hated letters; they always contained something unpleasant—nowadays, since his second marriage. This was from his sister. He began skimming through the insulting home-truths of which it was composed. The words "indecent haste," "social suicide," "scarcely cold in her grave," "person of the lower classes," all occurred. They were inevitable11 now in any communication from a well-meaning and right-thinking relative. Impatient, he was about to tear the stupid letter to pieces when his eye fell on a sentence at the bottom of the third page. His heart beat with uncomfortable violence as he read it. It was too monstrous12! Janet Spence was going about telling everyone that he had poisoned his wife in order to marry Doris. What damnable malice13! Ordinarily a man of the suavest14 temper, Mr. Hutton found himself trembling with rage. He took the childish satisfaction of calling names—he cursed the woman.
Then suddenly he saw the ridiculous side of the situation. The notion that he should have murdered anyone in order to marry Doris! If they only knew how miserably15 bored he was. Poor, dear Janet! She had tried to be malicious16; she had only succeeded in being stupid.
A sound of footsteps aroused him; he looked round. In the garden below the little terrace the servant girl of the house was picking fruit. A Neapolitan, strayed somehow as far north as Florence, she was a specimen17 of the classical type—a little debased. Her profile might have been taken from a Sicilian coin of a bad period. Her features, carved floridly in the grand tradition, expressed an almost perfect stupidity. Her mouth was the most beautiful thing about her; the calligraphic hand of nature had richly curved it into an expression of mulish bad temper.... Under her hideous18 black clothes, Mr. Hutton divined a powerful body, firm and massive. He had looked at her before with a vague interest and curiosity. To-day the curiosity defined and focused itself into a desire. An idyll of Theocritus. Here was the woman; he, alas19, was not precisely20 like a goatherd on the volcanic21 hills. He called to her.
"Armida!"
The smile with which she answered him was so provocative22, attested23 so easy a virtue24, that Mr. Hutton took fright. He was on the brink25 once more—on the brink. He must draw back, oh! quickly, quickly, before it was too late. The girl continued to look up at him.
"Ha chiamito?" she asked at last.
Stupidity or reason? Oh, there was no choice now. It was imbecility every time.
"Scendo" he called back to her. Twelve steps led from the garden to the terrace. Mr. Hutton counted them. Down, down, down, down.... He saw a vision of himself descending26 from one circle of the inferno27 to the next—from a darkness full of wind and hail to an abyss of stinking28 mud.
点击收听单词发音
1 villa | |
n.别墅,城郊小屋 | |
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2 bleak | |
adj.(天气)阴冷的;凄凉的;暗淡的 | |
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3 eastward | |
adv.向东;adj.向东的;n.东方,东部 | |
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4 luminous | |
adj.发光的,发亮的;光明的;明白易懂的;有启发的 | |
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5 siesta | |
n.午睡 | |
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6 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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7 solicitude | |
n.焦虑 | |
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8 discomfort | |
n.不舒服,不安,难过,困难,不方便 | |
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9 obsession | |
n.困扰,无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
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10 reluctance | |
n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
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11 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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12 monstrous | |
adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
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13 malice | |
n.恶意,怨恨,蓄意;[律]预谋 | |
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14 suavest | |
adj.平滑的( suave的最高级 );有礼貌的;老于世故的 | |
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15 miserably | |
adv.痛苦地;悲惨地;糟糕地;极度地 | |
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16 malicious | |
adj.有恶意的,心怀恶意的 | |
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17 specimen | |
n.样本,标本 | |
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18 hideous | |
adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
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19 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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20 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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21 volcanic | |
adj.火山的;象火山的;由火山引起的 | |
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22 provocative | |
adj.挑衅的,煽动的,刺激的,挑逗的 | |
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23 attested | |
adj.经检验证明无病的,经检验证明无菌的v.证明( attest的过去式和过去分词 );证实;声称…属实;使宣誓 | |
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24 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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25 brink | |
n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘,边沿 | |
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26 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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27 inferno | |
n.火海;地狱般的场所 | |
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28 stinking | |
adj.臭的,烂醉的,讨厌的v.散发出恶臭( stink的现在分词 );发臭味;名声臭;糟透 | |
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